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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834370">I'm Just a Kid and Life is a Nightmare</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/azaIea/pseuds/azaIea'>azaIea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Depressed Peter Parker, Derogatory Language, Electrocution, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker is a Mess, Self-Harm, Whump, just a lil bit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:16:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/azaIea/pseuds/azaIea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The silence was filled with a voice from the TV, <i>“I’m going to rip every inch of that suit away from you until you are nothing but a man, and then I’m going to kill you and leave your head on a spike.”</i> Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony pointedly.<br/><i>“At least take me to dinner fir—”</i>  Spider-man’s voice came next. It was the first time he’d spoken in almost two hours, which even Tony had to admit wasn’t normal, and his voice sounded <i>broken</i>.<br/>“<i>Fine,</i>” Tony groaned. “If he’s mad, I’m blaming you, Cap.”<br/>__________________________________________</p><p>In which Peter has a bad day, and Clint makes a new friend.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm Just a Kid and Life is a Nightmare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi, I'm back again with another short fic because I can't finish anything I start! I hope you enjoy this retelling of my real-life experiences in Spiderman form. </p><p>Warnings for: self-harm themes and a self-harm related slur<br/>__________________________________________</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Peter was not having a good day.</p><p> </p><p>            He knew it would be bad the moment he woke up naturally to the sunlight streaming through his window. He had been relaxed for half a second before he realized he slept in. When he checked his clock, it read 11:46AM. He’d already missed his morning classes. He had 14 minutes to make it to work with the copies of his photos that he was supposed to pick up from the shop at 6:00AM.</p><p>            He made it all the way to the shop in record time, and luckily, they hadn’t been thrown away yet.</p><p>            Unfortunately, that’s where his luck ran out.</p><p>            In his rush to get to the Bugle in time, he managed to bump into someone. Or, maybe someone bumped into him. Either way, it didn’t matter, because all that mattered was that the bump caused him to drop his folder of photos directly into a puddle. Which then proceeded to be trampled by a crowd of people who was just as much in a rush as he was.</p><p>            He looked at his watch. 11:57AM.</p><p>            He had gotten pretty good at fielding panic attacks since high school, but that one was just unavoidable.</p><p>            Once he managed to drag himself out of the alley and back into the world of the living, he went to the shop to get new copies developed, and tried really hard to ignore the looks of pity he got from the kid at the desk while he dug through his wallet. He knew how he looked; eyes puffy and red, showing up again 20 minutes later to ask for the <em>same pictures</em> again. The kid told him the fastest he could get it done was three hours.</p><p>            Showing up 3 hours late with photos was infinitely better than showing up on time with nothing, so he decided to take the walk of shame right back to his apartment.</p><p>            As he poured himself a sad bowl of cereal, he thought about how unfair it was that he’d managed to sleep a decent amount for once and then instantly ruined it with a panic attack. It left him feeling so utterly exhausted that he could barely think.</p><p>            So, he really wasn’t in his right mind when he decided to turn to some old habits. He wore pretty much exclusively long sleeves, anyway, to hide the webshooters, and he’d run out of friends to talk him out of it a long time ago. It was <em>fine</em>, he told himself. It wasn’t that big of a deal.</p><p>            He tried not to think about the five years of progress he was washing down the drain.</p><p>            The rest of the day went by in a blur. He skipped his afternoon classes, got the photos, and took them to Jameson. He nodded while the man screeched at him, paid him pennies in commission, and rushed out of the office as fast as he could.</p><p>            When he laid in bed at 7:24PM, he <em>almost </em>made the executive decision to skip patrol too. But, when he turned on the TV, the first thing he was met with was the shocking image of a group of his big bads wreaking havoc together, live on the news. The headline at the bottom just read, “<em>Sinister six?</em>”</p><p>            Peter let out a loud groan, which turned into a sob, as he rolled over and off the bed. Of <em>course </em>they had to learn about team-ups <em>today </em>of all days. He stumbled around his room, gathering up the pieces of his suit and grumbling.</p><p>            He managed to get dressed and swing there in less than 15 minutes.</p><p>            “Hey, guys, nice party. Why didn’t I get an invite?” He asked casually as he swung in, aiming a punch at Rhino. It did nothing but make the guy mad. Oops.</p><p>            “You <em>did</em>,” Doc Ock responded with a smile. “Why do you think we invited the media?”</p><p>            “Right,” Peter responded. He stuck himself on the side of a building out of reach to give himself time to take in the situation. Below him stood Rhino and Doc Ock, in all their menacing glory. “Speaking of, I read you guys are calling yourselves the Sinister Six, but unless I’m <em>really </em>bad at math—”</p><p>            “You’ll meet the others soon enough,” Doc Ock spoke again. The confidence in the man’s voice <em>really</em> didn’t make him feel good about this.</p><p>            Before he could open his mouth again, his spidey-sense went off behind him. He didn’t even have the chance to move before he felt the all too familiar feeling of being electrocuted. He couldn’t do a thing as he fell five stories to the ground and landed with a sickening crunch right on his shoulder.</p><p>            He sat up, slowly, his arm dragging with him uselessly. “Sneak attack, huh?” he asked as he brought his other hand to his shoulder. He tried to move slowly as he popped his dislocated shoulder back into place. “Risky move, even for you, Electro,” he managed to get out through his groan.</p><p>            He heard footsteps behind him, and Electro move to stand with the other two. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”</p><p>            Peter got to his feet, regaining his bearings. “So, how’d this happen? You guys decide to take a bus into town together? Discuss your villainous plans over some breakfast, maybe?”</p><p>            “Enough of this,” Doc Ock replied. He sent out one of his mechanical limbs, throwing Peter backwards into the building he’d just fallen from.</p><p>            At that point, things got serious. Peter could barely defend himself, much less get a word in edgewise. He was <em>not</em> on the top of his game after the morning he had. All he’d eaten was that bowl of cereal. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like hours. His reaction times were bad, his punches were sluggish at best, and he was getting <em>really</em> beaten up. It took him until the third whack on the head, when he’d almost passed out, to realize he couldn’t do this fight on his own.</p><p>            Doc Ock came toward him, moving fluidly on his mechanical limbs. He had a bruise on his left temple and there was a little bit of blood on his lip, but he didn’t look like he’d even broken a sweat. “I’m going to rip every inch of that suit away from you until you are nothing but a <em>man</em>, and then I’m going to kill you and leave your head on a spike,” he snarled.</p><p>            Peter laughed nervously. “At least take me to dinner fir—” He was cut off by one of the limbs darting out and grabbing him by the throat and choking him.</p><p>            Two more of his limbs came toward him and grabbed at the fabric on his shoulders without care. He brought Peter’s face close to his. “Starting with <em>this</em>.”</p><p>           </p><p> </p><p>            The Avengers sat around a conference table with a live news feed playing above them. Captain America himself was sitting with his back toward the screen, facing his teammates. “I think it’s pretty safe to say this is an Avengers level threat,” he said.</p><p>            “I mean, I wouldn’t go <em>that</em> far,” Tony Stark replied nonchalantly. Everyone looked at him. “What? They seemingly have no interest in robbing the businesses around them, and they haven’t touched a single civilian. Spidey knows what he’s doing. He’s taken these guys before.”</p><p>            Steve stood up. “He’s <em>clearly</em> being overwhelmed. He’s fought them all individually, yes, but…” he trailed off and looked at the screen behind him to see the kid get hit over the head by Rhino <em>again</em>, hard enough that he fell backwards on his ass.</p><p>            “There’s something wrong with him,” Natasha added. “I’ve seen him fight before. He’s slow.”</p><p>            “Doesn’t look slow to me,” Tony muttered. “Look, I don’t want to offend the guy going in guns blazing when he’s doing perfectly fine.”</p><p>            Everyone around the table stared at him again. The silence was filled with a voice from the TV, “<em>I’m going to rip every inch of that suit away from you until you are nothing but a man, and then I’m going to kill you and leave your head on a spike.</em>” Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony pointedly.</p><p>            “<em>At least take me to dinner fir—</em>” Spider-man’s voice came next. It was the first time he’d spoken in almost two hours, which even Tony had to admit wasn’t normal, and his voice sounded <em>broken</em>.</p><p>            “<em>Fine</em>,” Tony groaned. “If he’s mad, I’m blaming you, Cap.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>            The sound of tearing fabric filled the air. Peter felt a cold breeze on his shoulders and briefly wondered how the front of his shirt was still attached.</p><p>            He was broken from his thoughts when Doc Ock dropped him to the ground again. He landed on his back coughing and reached up to rub his throat with a bare hand. Then, he heard someone laughing to his left.</p><p>            “Oh, that is <em>rich</em>, Spidey,” Electro said once he’d recovered. “Didn’t take you for a cutter.”</p><p>            Peters blood ran cold. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about that. He looked down at his arms and noted that they looked <em>bad</em>. It made sense. He hadn’t eaten enough that day for his healing factor to work properly. If he had, they might’ve passed as at least a few days old. Instead, it was pretty clear how recent they were. “Come on, Sparky,” Peter found himself saying, trying, and failing, to keep the tremble out of his voice. “Low blow, man.”</p><p>            “You want to hear about low blows, Spider-man?” he asked, stepping closer. Suddenly, Peter seized up as electricity coursed through him again. Electro stepped on his forearm, and put all his weight on it, leaning down toward his face. “I’ll tell you about low blows.”</p><p>            Without warning, the weight was lifted off of him and he wrapped both his arms around his middle protectively. Once he came to his senses, he sat up.</p><p>            He was surrounded by chaos. No one was paying attention to him anymore. <em>All</em> the Avengers, minus Thor and Hulk, were there. He heard Doc Ock yell something about extraction and saw him wrap his tentacle-like limbs around both Rhino and Electro. Peter blinked, and they were flying through the air. He was too out of it to see what was carrying them.</p><p>            Most of the Avengers took off following them, but Peter felt a presence at his side. He turned to see Hawkeye kneeling beside him. “You with me buddy?”</p><p>            Had he been talking before? “Yep. Yeah. My eggs are a little scrambled.”</p><p>            Hawkeye laughed. “There he is. Can you stand up?”</p><p>            Peter looked down at himself. He was sitting on the ground with his legs splayed out in front of him. One of them looked like it was laying in the wrong direction, but he couldn’t really feel it. His arms were still wrapped tightly around his abdomen. He ignored the question. “How did you find me?” he asked instead.</p><p>            “You’re on TV,” Barton said patiently.</p><p>            Peter slowly looked around the crowd, suddenly noticing the sheer number of reporters. His arms seemed to heat up. He felt sick. “’Kay. I’m going home,” he practically whispered.</p><p>            “Actually,” Barton started slowly. “I was thinking we could take you up to the tower. Stark got us a car right around the corner. And it’s okay if you bleed on the seats, he’s a billionaire.” He said it as if it <em>wasn’t</em> clearly premeditated.</p><p>            Peter’s heart stuttered in his chest. “I, uh, I have a first aid kit. I’ll be fine.”</p><p>            “I’m gonna level with you,” he replied. “My one job is to get you to the tower. I’m gonna do that. I don’t think you’re in the position to fight me on this.”</p><p>            He was right, obviously. Peter’s first aid kit consisted of bandaids and pain meds that didn’t work, and he only had a few inches of thread left for stitches. “You’re not carrying me,” he finally said.</p><p>            Barton glanced from his face, to his leg, then back up to his face. “Yeah?” he asked, sounding amused. In response, Peter rolled over and stood up on his own, without removing his arms from their safe space. He almost fell, but Barton caught him. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”</p><p>            And with that, Peter took his second walk of shame that day, limping right past the wall of reporters with cameras.</p><p>            Once they were in the car driving for a couple minutes, Barton finally spoke again. “Did you hurt your stomach?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.</p><p>            Peters hair stood on end. Then, he groaned and leaned forward to bang his head on the dashboard.</p><p>            “Dude,” he said incredulously. He shot Peter a glance. “You <em>definitely</em> have a concussion. You should <em>not </em>be doing that.”</p><p>            Peter didn’t move. “Maybe I should quit being Spider-man. Find an abandoned island and live there where no one can witness me embarrass myself again,” he grumbled.</p><p>            “Dude, <em>what?</em>” he said with a voice tinged in nervous laughter. “Are you okay down there?”</p><p>            Peter sat up and stared at the road ahead of them. “The cameras were there the whole time? Live?” he asked.</p><p>            “Yeah, and you looked badass, don’t worry,” Barton tried to sound reassuring. “We came to help because we <em>know</em> you and we could tell you could use some backup, but to the untrained eye you looked good. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”</p><p>            He felt the world tilt and his stomach swirled. “Gonna be sick,” he announced.</p><p>            Barton glanced at him again. “Can you wait ‘til we get to the tower, bud?”</p><p>            Peter hesitated. “Maybe,” he said, too quickly.</p><p>            “Nope,” Barton said, turning sharply and pulling over on a quiet road. As soon as the car stopped, Peter practically fell out, barely catching himself on his hands.</p><p>            He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, but it had been long enough that Barton came out to rub circles on his back. When he finished, he crawled back into his seat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, his arms settled back into their safe space.</p><p>            It was dark, but there was no way he hadn’t seen them. Peter’s suspicion was confirmed when the car ride was silent. “’S embarrassing,” he mumbled eventually.</p><p>            “Don’t,” Barton said, making him flinch. “It’s… It’s not <em>okay</em>, but I get it. You don’t need to be embarrassed, alright?”</p><p>            Peter continued to be embarrassed, just more quietly.</p><p>            After driving for a long time in silence, Barton pulled into the garage slowly and parked. He got out of the car and opened the passenger door. Peter could barely lift his head. “I don’t think I can…” he mumbled.</p><p>            “I gotcha, Spidey.” He lifted him easily, <em>too easily</em>, and carried him to the elevator. It was silent for a moment. “Listen, Spides…” Barton started carefully. “So, I think the live cameras were cut when it looked like the tentacle guy was gonna make good on his promise to rip your clothes off. I’ll check for you. If that’s not an issue, I’ll track down all the rest with Nat and make sure they don’t release anything. I’m almost positive no one had a good enough angle on you, and the only ones who could’ve were behind the live feed we were watching.”</p><p>            Peter didn’t know what to say. “Thanks… I appreciate it,” he mumbled. “Do you think we could, uh, not say anything to the rest of the Avengers?” Barton looked down at him skeptically. “This isn’t, like… a thing for me. Doc Ock just picked the <em>worst</em> day to strip me in front of a crowd,” he said, laughing awkwardly.</p><p>            “How about this,” Barton started as the elevator doors opened. “You tell me your secret identity, and I won’t tell a soul about this.”</p><p>            “W-what? Why?” Peter asked incredulously, trying to lean away.</p><p>            “So I can check up on you. Clearly, you’re a person who needs checked up on,” he replied.</p><p>            Peter felt something warm in his chest, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t one of his broken ribs. “You want to check up on me?”</p><p>            “Yep,” he said, popping the p. “I know you’re big on being a loner and all, but here in the Avengers we support each other. Y’know, emotionally.”</p><p>            “Oh,” Peter said. He hadn’t really thought about the idea that other heroes might have issues like him.</p><p>            They entered a room with a hospital bed. Barton placed him on the bed carefully. “The doctors signed an NDA. The cameras for this entire wing have been cut,” he assured him.</p><p>            Peter gave a weak thumbs up and promptly passed out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>            It took him longer than it should’ve to figure out where he was when he woke up.</p><p>            The steady beeping of the heart monitor, whoosh of the AC, and hushed voices in the halls was enough to give him a clue. When he blinked his eyes open, the light was <em>way</em> too bright. He squeezed his eyes closed and reached up to cover his ears. Someone grabbed his arms to pull them back down, and a voice exploded from the same direction.</p><p>            “<em>Ssshhh</em>,” Peter said.</p><p>            “What?” The voice slammed into his ears.</p><p>            Peter yanked his arms free and successfully covered his ears. “Too much.”</p><p>            Whoever it was must have gotten the memo, then, because Peter could see the light behind his eyelids dimming. “Better?” they whispered.</p><p>            He nodded and stayed like that for a moment to give himself time to adjust. When he finally opened his eyes, it felt much better. “Thanks,” he said quietly, lowering his hands. He looked to the side and saw the person beside him was Barton, or maybe Clint? Were they on first-name basis yet? “I have enhanced senses. Hospitals suck.”</p><p>            “Gotcha,” Clint said, still whispering. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>            “Like I got hit by a train. And drugged,” Peter replied without hesitation.</p><p>            Clint laughed quietly. “Sounds about right. Those guys didn’t go easy on you.” Peter nodded at that, and they sat in silence. “Listen,” he continued, a little louder. “About that deal we made.”</p><p>            Peters chest clenched. He’d almost forgotten. He looked down at his arms which were completely wrapped in gauze. “You told them?” he practically whimpered.</p><p>            “No!” Clint whispered quickly. “No, it’s not that. It’s your identity. You have a, um, baby face? Someone in particular who happens to be good with computers snuck in here and caught a glimpse of you. He thought you were younger than you are, so he cyberstalked you and figured it out. Now the whole team knows. Sorry.” He added a little shrug at the end.</p><p>            Peter gaped at him, then buried his face in his hands with a pathetic whine. He didn’t know which secret would be worse for them to find out.</p><p>            “This doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Clint said, clearly holding back a laugh at his reaction. “We won’t tell SHIELD, and this way if you need backup you have a support team. And, y’know. Emotional support.”</p><p>            Peter groaned. “I cannot believe that every single possible bad thing that could’ve happened in one day <em>did</em> happen.”</p><p>            “Well, the only evidence of… <em>you know</em> was some blurry cell phone footage. There’s some speculation, but nothing concrete, so that’s good, right?” Clint pat him on the back.</p><p>            “<em>Ugh</em>,” Peter replied. He still hadn’t moved his face away from its hiding place. “If my ex sees <em>any</em> of that she’s gonna quit ghosting me just to come beat me senseless.”</p><p>            Clint laughed, loud and sharp. “Kid, that is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, his voice returning to a normal volume.</p><p>            “Not a kid,” Peter mumbled.</p><p>            “And on that note, I have some more bad news,” Clint continued sympathetically.</p><p>            Peter whimpered into his hands.</p><p>            “You were in an induced coma for three days. We sent a doctor’s note to your work and classes, but your boss said to tell you that you’re fired,” Clint said quickly.</p><p>            When he got over the shock of how long he’d slept, he sat up and sighed. “Yeah, he says that a lot.”</p><p>            Clint snorted. “Seriously? Sounds like a dick.”</p><p>            “Well, what other job am I gonna get that won’t mind if I disappear mid-shift? Spider-man duties have a habit of making me look real irresponsible.” Peter shuddered as he remembered his last meeting with Jameson.</p><p>            “Fair enough, I guess,” Clint said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Well, a few of us are getting pizza ordered for tonight. You’re probably starving. Care to join us?” Peter started making a noise of uncertainty, but Clint held up a hand. “Come on. It’ll just be me, you, War Machine, The Winter Soldier, Nat, and Sam.”</p><p>            “W-why did you use their aliases? Are you trying to intimidate me?” Peter asked, staring at him.</p><p>            “Did it work?” Clint grinned.</p><p>            “No,” Peter said incredulously.</p><p>            “You can’t say no to pizza. And also, you need to hurry up so we know whether to order ten or twenty.” Clint stood up and presumptuously held out his hand.</p><p>            “I can’t tell if you figured out my metabolism thing or you’re making a fat joke,” Peter said as he took his hand. “I’ll have you know; I’m only coming for the <em>pizza</em> and I will not be socializing.”</p><p>            “Yeah you will,” Clint said, grunting as he dragged him out of the bed. “You <em>never</em> shut up. I bet you couldn’t even do it out of spite.”</p><p>            “Oh yeah? How much?” Peter taunted as he tried to force his legs to work.</p><p>            “I’ll bet you twenty bucks you won’t last ten minutes,” Clint replied with no hesitation. He watched Peter struggle for a moment before wrapping an arm around his waist.</p><p>            “You’re <em>so</em> on.”</p>
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